


counting heartbeats

by alicephantomwise



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Adaptations - All Media Types, Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:11:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicephantomwise/pseuds/alicephantomwise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is how the legend ends</p>
            </blockquote>





	counting heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: (sort of) major character death
> 
> French translation by Aelorian found [here](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6974913/1/counting_heartbeats).

[one]

 

here is how the legend ends:

 

[two]

 

fragile as a baby bird, hollow-boned with furled wings, dreamy-eyed

(this is how Arthur dies)

 

[three]

 

blood spills into the earth, clogging her with it until each footstep comes away thick with gore

the morning bleeds her despair into the sky: dark reds, sickly yellows, the sun nowhere to be found

bodies strewn across the fields, little dolls, their limbs mangled in obscene angles

(this is how Camelot falls apart)

 

[four]

 

there are screams as Camelot burns

the hazy hang of morning, sour with soot, acrid with ash

the skies split open, but the summer rains aren’t enough: the rain burns in the air, raining ash

(this is how Albion mourns her king)

 

[five]

 

there’s a boy with dark hair and eyes as blue and vast as the seas

he says: you’ve lost, all of you

he says: your king is dead

he says: I am your king now – long live the king

(if you asked him his name, he would tell you

my name, he would say, bright with malice – my name is Mordred)

 

[six]

 

and of course there is a sorcerer

he is dead, says Mordred curiously – why do you kiss him so gently?

the sorcerer smoothes the king’s hair away from his face and says, he is my king

he is dead, says Mordred again – I am your king now

the sorcerer smiles and says, you will never be my king

you are wrong, Mordred says angrily – he is dead, I am your king! what are you doing?

and the sorcerer presses his ear to the king’s chest, taps out an unsteady rhythm: faltering at first, cautious as a baby bird learning how to fly, and then stirring stronger, stronger, until it is as strong as the sea breaking upon the shore; sure as the stars glittering in the night skies; real as the first glimmer of sunlight just before the dawn; beautiful as a baby’s tiny fist with its curling fingers

one, Merlin says, two, three, four—

five

what are you doing, demands Mordred

and Merlin says, I’m counting heartbeats

a hitch of breath

the pitter-patter of a heart

the skies sigh in relief, the sun comes out of hiding; the rain washes the world clean; the earth claims her lost children, folding them in loving embrace; a child laughs; a fawn trembles on unsteady legs before she takes a tentative step forward

(and Arthur wakes)

 

[seven]

 

you see, they were all wrong

because this isn’t the end of a legend

(this is where the legend begins)

 

*


End file.
